Genesis Girl (33 page)

“Let the record show,” Agent Carter says as she clicks her finger-chips to record the interrogation, “that the subject refused to speak until her lawyer was present.”

“You know,” says Agent Marlow in a kind tone. “You’re not in any trouble. You can answer a few of our questions. There’s no need for a lawyer.”

I look down at my wrist and don’t respond. The first thing they did when they brought me into the brick FBI building was take away my chip-watch for “safekeeping.”

“We won’t access your accounts,” said the agent who sealed off my watch in a special box. “This is standard protocol for being escorted into a federal building. Most people hauled in get the lead-lined mitts. We can’t let their finger-chips make trouble.”

My wrist feels unnaturally smooth. First my cuff and now my watch. Naked skin taunts me.

“I know all about you, Blanca,” says Agent Carter. “Every last detail.”

I look straight at her. I know all about Margie Carter too. I studied her in the class I took during junior year called Vestal Enemies. She’s aged significantly compared to the picture of her in my textbook.

Agent Carter leans into the table. “I’ve monitored the Vestals for seventeen years. You were in diapers when I first started investigating Barbelo Nemo.”

I cross my ankles and fold my hands. I straighten out my spine like I’m being pulled from above. I smooth my expression so all evidence of emotion evaporates. If there’s one lesson Ms. Corina taught me, it’s that sixty percent of communication is nonverbal. No way am I going to let my body speak while I keep my lips closed.

Agent Carter raps her tattooed fingers on the table and stares back at me. “I have a lot of questions, Blanca. It’s time to prove whose side you’re actually on.”

I answer by not moving one muscle. I could sit like this forever. Headmaster Russell, Ms. Corina, and the other teachers at Tabula Rasa would be proud. Barbelo too, of course, if he was still alive.

The seconds tick away like hours. After an eon, I hear a rustle at the door. I turn to see the McNeal family lawyer, Nancy Robinson, enter in a flurry of worsted wool. Her hair lifts up in an elaborate French twist and her face gleams with determination.

“I’m here now, Blanca.” Nancy blusters into the room. “Traffic was awful.” She reaches out her hand to shake with the agents. “Nancy Robinson. Pleased to meet you. Now let’s get this travesty over with.” She sits down in the chair next to me and clicks on her finger-chips. “We’ll record this for our own evidence, of course, even though Blanca is here completely voluntarily.”

“Yes, well. Let’s get started.” Agent Carter eyes me closely. “We are here to interview Blanca Nemo about the inner workings of the Vestal order.”

“My name’s not Nemo.”

“Have you been adopted by Mr. Calum McNeal?” asks Agent Marlow. “I was unaware of this.”

Nancy nods at me, so I answer. “No,” I say. “Not officially.”

If we made it official—supposing Cal wanted that—it would be tricky. Legally, Seth would become my brother. Hypothetical incest was more than I could handle at the moment.

“Blanca has the right to use any name she chooses,” Nancy says. “Please honor it.”

Agent Marlow continues. “Are Barbelo Nemo and Lydia Xavier your birth parents?”

“Lydia Xavier?” I say, before Nancy can stop me. “Where did you hear that name?” I’m angry with myself as soon as the words leave my mouth. I know better than to reveal unnecessary information. But I’ve never heard Ms. Lydia’s last name before.

“We don’t reveal our sources,” snaps Agent Carter. “Answer the question.”

“No, I think not,” interjects Nancy. “There’s no need for Blanca to cooperate if you’re going to be rude. She’s not under arrest. And her question is a good one. We’ve been trying for months to discover Lydia’s last name. I need it for probate court. We’re working under the assumption that Blanca is Lydia’s legal heir.”

Agent Marlow’s lips twitch. “I’m sorry, but we can’t expose our sources. This is an ongoing investigation into the alleged criminal activity of the Vestal order. We thought, given the posts Blanca’s made on
The Lighthouse
, that she would be as committed as we were to achieving justice for everyone who was wronged.”

“I told you, Marlow,” Agent Carter says in her hash, raspy voice, “she’d be as tight lipped as the rest of them. Never trust a lunatic in white.”

“I’m not a lunatic!”

“That was uncalled for.” Nancy’s voice is shrill.

“Prove it.” Agent Carter holds out her hand and flashes me a picture. “Do you recognize this person?” She points to a tall Asian man about Seth’s age—twenty three. He’s naked from the waist up and kicks a punching bag. Sweat drips off chiseled muscles.

Do I recognize him? Of course I do. That’s my friend Keung. He’s looks older than I remember, and more handsome than ever.

“No,” I say. “I don’t know who that is.”

Agent Carter stares at me sharply. Then she flashes more pictures across her palm. “This person? Or this one?”

I shake my head, but keep the rest of my body perfectly still. I see no benefit in telling them anything.

“What about him?” Agent Marlow shows me another picture.

“Sorry. No idea.”

“Damn it, Nemo!” Agent Carter slams her hand on the table. “I know you’re lying.”

Despite my training, I startle. I jerk back in my chair so hard that the plastic rattles on the linoleum. Then I take a deep breath and focus on my breathing.

Nancy’s eyes turn steely. “That was uncalled for. You have no reason whatsoever to question her integrity. Let me remind you that Blanca spent her childhood cooped up in seclusion and has a recent history of being abducted, attacked, and almost murdered.”

“All the more reason for her to come forth with information rather than obstructing justice,” says Agent Carter.

“No,” Nancy replies. “All the more reason for Blanca to be cautious. If she doesn’t tell you something for fear of her safety, that’s not obstructing justice. What will you do, put her in witness protection? She’s been in hiding her whole life.”

“Whoa.” Agent Marlow lifts up his hands to stop the verbal assault. “Nobody is accusing Blanca of obstructing justice. Let’s take a moment to calm down and get back on track.”

“Ask me something else.” My words are soft and quick. “Ask me a different question.”

Nancy raises her tattooed eyebrows at me. Then she turns back to Agents Carter and Marlow. “You heard the girl. Try asking Blanca something in a different way.”

“In a different way?” Agent Marlow repeats. “Okay, Blanca. How about this. What can you tell us about the Guardians?”

This, I can do. I know exactly what to say because the textbook answer is engrained in my brain. “Founded in 2028,” I begin, “the Guardian order was created in Beijing as a rival to the Vestals. Tabula Rasa was sixteen years old at that point and celebrating its first Harvest of graduates.”

“Where your mother was purchased by Barbelo Nemo, your father,” Agent Carter interjects.

“I don’t consider either of those people to be my parents.” I sit up a little straighter and don’t say another word.

For a full minute, there is only silence, all four of us staring at each other in a quiet contest of wills.

“Please, Blanca,” Agent Marlow finally says, his deep voice rumbling. “Please continue. Agent Carter won’t interrupt again.” He glares at her.

Nancy nods at me, so I move on to the next memorized line. “Tabula Rasa was gaining international fame as the last bastion of privacy. As the world became aware that lack of a virtual footprint was a commodity, a Chinese businesswoman named Wu Park rushed to copy our success. In the years that followed, the Vestal system Barbelo Nemo established at Tabula Rasa became so popular that it was copied in other countries as well. The Keiner school in Berlin for example, and the Nadie school in Mexico. As parents began to realize there was financial value in their children’s privacy, more and more families begged for placement.”

“You said ‘ours,’” says Agent Carter.

“What?”

“You said ‘
our
success.’” She places her hands on the table and the ladybug tattoos make me squirm.

“No, I didn’t.”

Or did I? I can’t remember for sure.

“Ms. Nemo.” Agent Carter is expressionless. “Do you still consider yourself to be a Vestal?”

“I’m no longer a Vestal and my name isn’t Nemo. It’s McNeal. I told you.”

“We want to believe you,” says Agent Marlow. “But we can’t.”

“It’s hard to trust a liar.” Agent Carter sneers.

“A liar?” Nancy exclaims. “Blanca, do not under any circumstance say another word. You are done helping these people without a court order.”

“That can be easy to arrange,” Agent Marlow says simply.

Agent Carter flicks her fingers and pulls up one more picture. It’s grainy and hard to decipher, like the photograph was shot in the mist.

But my white pants are easy to spot. I’m standing on tiptoes leaning up to kiss Seth. We snuggle in front of the doorway of his apartment building.

“So what? Lots of people photograph me every day.”

Agent Carter smiles like a panther about to eat fresh meat. “Look in the corner.”

So I do. And what I see stuns me.

Keung is in the picture too. Watching us.

“Blanca,” Nancy says. “I highly advise you to not answer any more questions.”

I nod my head in agreement and rub my blank wrist.

If there’s one thing that Keung inspires, it’s silence.

Goose bumps race down
my back as my skin touches the evening air. The night is moonless, the stars hidden by the city’s ugly glow. My leather jacket hugs me, but offers no protection from the chill. When I see Cal and Seth waiting for me outside, I sprint towards them.

Seth reaches me first, and swings me around in his arms. Cal says a quick goodbye to Nancy, and then leads us to the limo. Our driver, Alan, waits at the front of the parking lot and holds the back door open.

“What happened to my bike?” I ask.

“Don’t worry,” says Cal. “It’s home in one piece.”

I sink back into the middle seat of the limo and squeeze my eyes shut. I don’t open them again until we’re driving to the manor at top speed. Cal and Seth each take one of my hands.

“It’s okay now.” Cal gives my hand a gentle squeeze, then he releases it.

“What did they want?” Seth pulls me in close so that my head rests against his shoulder.

“They asked me about the Guardians.”

“The Chinese Vestals?” Seth asks.

“They’re not Vestals.” I jerk my head away and shift positions. “Guardians are entirely different.”

“How are they different? Lock up your kids in a cyber-safe school for eighteen years and then auction them off to the highest bidder.” Seth scratches the back of his neck. “It sounds exactly the same to me.”

The irritation that crawls up my throat surprises me. I bite back bile. “It’s not the same. Vestals harvest ten people a year—all carefully screened for image, IQ, and likeability. The Guardians churn out hundreds. They have so many graduates of questionable quality that they can’t land big contracts. A few lucky ones get placed as spokespeople for multi-million dollar firms, but the rest are assigned to miniscule government positions. It’s like a twisted version of the ancient Confucian exam.”

“The Con-fu-fu what?” asks Seth.

I turn to look at him. “You don’t know who Confucius is?”

“Should I?”

“He was an ancient Chinese philosopher,” says Cal. “Starting in the Han dynasty, men who were interested in becoming government bureaucrats either had to know somebody who could offer a recommendation, or pass the imperial examinations, which were based on Confucian classics.”

I nod my head in agreement. “It’s similar to what the Guardians do now. Graduate the program and get a job. Except with the Guardians, the government can dispose of them at will. Since their family has forsaken them they have no recourse except to do what their bosses say. It’s nothing like the Vestals.”

“That’s exactly like the Vestals,” Seth says.

“Vestals don’t work for the government!” Sometimes it feels like Seth doesn’t listen to me.

“So the FBI is interested in the Guardians?” asks Cal.

“Yes,” I say. “Now you know everything.”

Well, almost everything. I don’t tell them about Keung.

Or the likely reason he’s following me.

LIFER

TEMPER

FACSIMILE

VESSEL